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Saturday, 24 June 2017

Any Science Fiction Lovers out there?This short story was originally published on the Scribbler in July 2014. It will be part of the new short story collection - Four Boxes of Memories - coming this fall!

Many people know that I work for Peoples Jewellers at Champlain Place, a Mall in Dieppe, New Brunswick. I imagined a Mall in Outer Space - it could happen some day! The Far Out Mall Copyright is held by the author.

May 5, 2657

The Far Out
Mall is 603 miles above Earth. It’s located in the 16-A Octagonal of the
InterCosmic Manor 2599 (the year it was completed). The Off-Earth Living Pod
(LP) is two miles long, two miles wide and three hundred feet deep, taking twenty-one
years to complete. Shaped like an octagon, the frame is built of lunarium, the
hardest and lightest metal known to man, mined deep below the surface of the
moon. The ore was smelted, refined and the frame was shaped in the Galactic
Forge 2412. The surface is covered with a golden skin of polyalymel, a
combination of high density plastic from Earth, malleable alloys and elements
from Mars. It has the ability to absorb and store light, providing all the
power the manor needs. Sand, immense heat and pressure have been added to the
compound to create the nine hundred and fifty-seven transparent glass panels through
which its populace can view the stars, other Pods and Earth. Each of its thirty
levels is divided into eight sections called an Octagonal. Each floor has 20 bulk elevators and 78 HTDs -
human transmission depositories.

InterCosmic
Manor 2599, informally referred to as “Mac99”
in reference to the original pioneer of living Off-Earth in self-sustaining Pods in the twenty third century, Macintosh
Fairweather , is home to over 80 thousand people. More than nine hundred of
them tend the gardens and the forest on level four, unofficially referred to as
the ‘feed and breathe’ level. Hundreds
more tend the animals on level three, or manage the silage and fodder or
control the enormous stores. Another seven thousand inhabitants work on levels
one and two which are devoted to the power plants, the waste center, water
control, ventilation, heating, maintenance, computer and communications center,
robot and probe repair, janitorial, the recycling complex, the air transport
garages, emergency response department and the morgue. The shipping and
receiving docks for goods traded with Earth, Jupiter, Venus, Moon stations and
the other satellites occupy their own Octagonal on levels one and two.

The owner
and the extremely wealthy occupy enormous, extravagant suites on level thirty.
They, their robots and their appointed staff are the only ones allowed at that
level. Even the HTDs are programmed to detect designated biological signatures
from each person’s Mac99 implant that
they receive when arriving or are born here. Refusing the implant is not an
option. LPs beyond the 200 mile ISB or International Space Boundary are
responsible for their own safety, their own laws. Of the 263 LPs circling the
earth, only two are hostile. Both orbit at miles 450 and 455 respectively, in the
Scatter Zone between miles 445 and 465, where LP 2290 was destroyed by an
asteroid. There are very few rules there, every vice you can conceive and
slavery is legal. The owners and their mercenaries are ruthless; people do as
they are told.The rogue LPs are officially
called LV2477 and LV2501 but the populace refer to them as LV1 and LV2. Only
one other LP orbits in this zone, the former InterCosmic PRT(prison/rehab/termination)2344.
It revolves the over populated Earth mostly uninhabited, a floating rusting
hulk.

On Mac99 manufacturing takes up levels 14
and 15. Level 16 is dedicated solely to education. Security headquarters, the
armory, admin, governmental offices, entertainment facilities, a worship hub, and
hospital are all on level 17, as is the shopping center. One Octagonal is
solely devoted to trade. The ethnic food
franchises are in main entrance. The second hub is where the larger franchises
are located, SpaceMart, Future Shop and Fong’s Hardware taking up half the
floor area. Beyond that there are boutiques and specialty shops.

On the
coveted outer wall the shops face Earth. Each boutique offers full transparent panels
where guests can view the ever changing sky as they browse or shop. Luxuriously
appointed, only the wealthiest of store owners can afford the lease.
Alexander’s Fine Jewellery is one such occupant.It is situated in the very center of the
outer perimeter with the entrance facing the fine dining concourse, the upscale
cafes where the moneyed take their lunch. The varied cuisine emits pleasant
aromas of spices and rare herbs. People of every possible nationality roam the
hallways, searching for baubles or necessities. If the buying patrons venture
this deep into the shopping mecca, the only common denominator would be wealth.
Yet, dreamers and the regular drifters
roam the halls.

A baby’s cry
rises above the gossip and stray chatter that fill the open areas causing
people pause. Babies are rare. The mother, her escorts and personal defense
droid follow her to an open park-like seating area in the next establishment, Vittorio’s Gardens. Joe Average cannot afford the protection and
usually opts for sterilization. Dreaded creatures called virkon-eptiles, are carnivorous and prefer humans, especially their
young. It is only preceding this interruption that patrons eye the golden
droids hovering abundantly around the ceilings. One is stationary in front of
every HTD which are busy today transporting shoppers.Every defbot can react within a millisecond
of sight, sound or smell of a virkon-eptile,
destroying the worm like parasite instantaneously with a powerful laser
blast. There is no hesitation from the droid, no matter what or who comes
between the dreaded monster and the laser; it will be vaporized as well.

There has
not been a sighting for over a year within Old
Mack, until last week in Loading Bay 14 on Level 2. It was assumed it ate
the driver only minutes before docking his water transport. It took two lasers
1/100th of a second to simultaneously detect and destroy it. Nothing
remained except a small gathering of gray ash. Virkon-eptiles grew from a viruses captured on an astronaut’s
clothing when the mining of Asteroid Pliney took place last century, his name
was Dismas Virkon. Exposed to high CO2 levels and water, the beings that
evolved are reptilian, they can think and are able to manipulate their own DNA
to replicate anything organic it comes in contact with. It can perform this
function for only a short time, thirty minutes or less needing ten to twelve
hours to regenerate. Scientists from the InterCosmic Lab2424 are making
terrific headway at being able to duplicate this unique ability by
experimenting on both dead and live specimens. All but a small cache of virkon-eptiles have been eradicated. Only those alive are corralled
on Prison 2344; they live off the human detritus from LV1 & LV2. Some of
them escape. They are extremely fast. Sometimes LPs experience power
malfunctions shutting down most defense systems. If a virkon-eptile is hiding, lying in wait, it is this moment it will
feed. There was an outage on Mac99 yesterday.

That was why
Alexander’s Fine Jewellery is having a PLS – Personal Laser System - installed.
During the blackout Mac99’s emergency
power went to where it was most needed, especially the HTDs and weapons on the top
four floors. The general power was interrupted for only two minutes but 65% of
the LP remained weaponless for that short time. That was too long when beings
that could eat three humans in ninety seconds might be present.

Gracia Moeller,
nee Alexander, does not want to
experience such fear like she did when they experienced the outage before
closing time yesterday.Every unit went
to immediate lock-down. Doors shut whether you were in or out or in between. Everyone
was scrambling for a place to hide, knocking over the chairs, sliding and
bunching up her antique carpets, tipping her Moon Drop display with several of
the rare crystals shattering. People beating at her glass doors that she was
unable to open broke her heart. She shakes her thick auburn hair out of her
face as she tries to forget about last night and concentrate on serving her
guest. Handing a gaily colored gift bag with the Alexander A in gold foil gracing the outer flap, to a young man distinguished
by his spindly frame and bushy eyebrows, she says,

“Thank you
for your business Mr. Dubrowski. This is a moment neither you nor your dear
friend Candace will ever forget. Please bring her in sometime so we can meet
her.”

‘Thank you for helping me pick out
that beautiful ring, I know she’s going to love it.”

Blushing and
grinning he waves as he hastens to leave, already late on his lunch break from
the Orbital Control Center where he monitors the propulsion systems in the
eighth sector.

Gracia waves
back before surveying her premises. Beside her the PLS Installer, a bent- over
middle aged man, terribly bowlegged and much too serious, is sliding a black
box into a cubicle he shaped under the serving area that centers the
premises.The work station is within the
twelve foot circle. The base is uncommon red pine harvested from underwater
fifty years after the flooding of the lower mountains in Canada when a large
portion of the Arctic polar cap melted rapidly in the twenty third century.
Crafted into a perfect circle, the lacquered wood supports a thin 30 inch
horizontal panel where the clients are served. The total surface of the counter
is a layer of durable, touch and voice sensitive, extreme-tech plasma. The
overall screen shows a replica of the circles of Saturn. The point of sale or
POS system can be anywhere they are standing.

Gracia has
her hands upon her shapely hips, jewels sparkling from several well-manicured
fingers. Her silk jacket is tucked neatly behind them. She regards her number
one sales person, Aisha regale one of their regular patrons to the joys of
owning a four carat Martian cyntonium, the largest available Off-Earth.Her part time worker, Cristofer, is
rearranging her Moon Drop display, adding new pieces to replace the broken
ones. Michelle her manager is helping a young couple select their wedding
bands. There are two other patrons in the store, “just looking”. The Installer
is replacing his tools in the small cloth bag he brought in with him. Wiping
his hands on a faded blue cloth he turns to Gracia.

“Everything
is ready to go Ms. Moeller.”

He hands her
two pulse pistols, the latest in fashion weaponry as well as two stylish
holsters that are chameleonized to change color with whatever outfit they may
be wearing. One is custom built to fit in her hand only, programmed to
recognize the ID signal from her implant only, the trigger activated by her nerve
impulses only. The other is for her manager. With a long face that expresses little
joy for his work, the installer adds as if by rote.

“These will
be charged tomorrow by one of our guns specialists. He or she will be
explaining the usage, the dangers, the responsibilities, the laws, the
licensing and the deadliness of these weapons. I urge extreme caution, always.
I hope you never have to use them. There are holders for these in the console I
just installed, where they will remain at night to hold their charge. Did you
have any questions before I leave?”

Gracia eyes
the large letters emblazoned on the chest of his coveralls BOB.Thinking that the letters are his name, she
says,

“So the guns
are harmless now Bob?”

Scrunching
his brow with a questioning look he replies.

“Name’s
Ralph and yeah, you couldn’t kill a mars-bugg with these.”

What Ralph
had no way of knowing is that the apprentice armorer, in her zealous approach
to her new responsibilities did indeed charge these weapons. Not understanding
the flag in the work orders, the “gunrat”, as they were referred to in the
armory, loaded a full force to each one in her work station. In a parlance from
the twentieth century, that still defines a deadly readiness –they are, locked and loaded.

Placing the
paraphernalia on the counter top, Gracia turns to him with her hand out adding
a smile.

“Oops, sorry
Ralph.” She points her finger at the letters on his chest, “I thought…well
anyway, thank you for the nice work. Please come back and visit again, bring
the Mrs.…”

She is
interrupted by the distinct sound of sharp heels clicking on the hard
stoneoleum in the hallway. She stops shaking Ralph’s hand standing motionless
with her ear cocked towards the sound. A frown crosses her pretty face, the
dimples more pronounced. Ralph bug eyes at her sudden hesitation, deciding he
should leave. Releasing her hand he hastens away.

“Good day to
you Ms. Moeller.”

Gracia is
ignoring him, all thoughts of the installer vanished, all thoughts of the
loaded weapons eliminated. Pursing her lips, rubbing her hands in anticipation,
she realizes from the gait of the approaching clackety-clack it is that damn
Mrs. Abernathy.The woman will not quit.
Turning to Michelle who has heard the announcement as well, they nod in
confirmation. They already planned what to do when the bothersome shopper
turned up.

Agnes
Abernathy is not as wealthy as she pretends to be. Inheriting a suite of rooms
on the 27th level from her fourth husband is difficult to maintain
when the slime left everything else to his mistress. Using the last of the
currency her father bequeathed her, the botcredits
are going quickly. She has the annoying habit of buying expensive jewels and
returning them after she wears them to some social function that the rich dally
in. Her relentless pursuit of spouse #5, in her mind, requires being seen at
all the ‘right’ places, as well as being seen in the latest and richest
baubles. Even after the passing of centuries, the advancement in sciences, the
ease of living, some things never change.

The latest acquisition
was a pair of earrings. Flawless 1.4 carat shycetic gems from Phobos, the
largest moon of Mars. Only 3000 carats were mined before the operation was
deserted as being too costly with fewer gems being discovered. Light that is
captured in them returns to the beholder’s eyes as a dazzling spectrum of
strong colors. They are very hard to find. Making them even more valuable is
that they are they only precious stone to have a scent, emitting an aroma that
can only be depicted as floral. The stones adapt to each human’s chemistry to
evoke a unique perfume. Highly sought after, they are very expensive. Mrs.
Abernathy purchased them on Friday. She will want to return them today.

The
irritable noise of her approach is hushed when she turns into the store to walk
upon antique hemp rugs woven by hand in the 24th century by weavers
from the “Double LP” (Love & Peace Living Pod 2401). Agnes Abernathy is
doomly clad in this season’s colors, black and blood red. Only her pink hat
covering short silver locks softens her somber presence. Her face and hands are
dyed a silver slightly darker than her hair which is quite the rage for those
that visit earth frequently. For some unexplainable reason many rich men find
it attractive. Holding a matching pink clutch in one silver hand, she swings a
small tote with the recognizable A upon it. When she reaches the counter where
Gracia is standing she moues as she waves the bag in the air before setting it
upon the sales area.

“I’m sorry
Gracia but these just won’t do, there is too much blue in their dispersion and
it clashes horribly with my wardrobe. I’m afraid I’ll have to return them my dear.”

Gracia is
trying very much to be nice, it is ingrained in her from her ancestors to show
their clients respect but this has got to come to an end. With a smile that
might freeze butter, she says,

“I’m afraid
not Mrs. Abernathy. Did you not read the notice on your communicator when you
purchased them? They are not returnable. It states very clearly on your
notification?”

Abernathy
steps back in astonishment at the boldness of Gracia’s delivery. Her immediate
thought is the five hundred thousand botcredits
the jewels represent. Currency she cannot afford to be without. Indignation
takes precedence over kindness as she replies coldly,

“I care
little of what is posted on my “communicator” as you call it. I’m much too busy
to trifle over mere receipts of payment. I purchase many items here Ms.
Moeller”

The speech
is more formal. In her guest’s hesitation Gracia speaks up.

“You indeed
make many purchases Mrs. Abernathy but you return everything.”

Gracia
cannot contain herself any longer. She does not run a rental shop.One hand akimbo, the other with an accusing
finger pointing at her client’s grey pallor made pinkish by the boiling blood
within.

“I’m wise to
you Mrs. Abernathy, you wear the purchases to one of your calendar events and
then return them but not always this soon. Of course we do not move in the same
groupings, I did however, see you at the Spatial Charity Experience. Those very
earrings caused quite a sensation amongst the hundreds that attended. I searched
for the owner, knowing you had the only ones aboard the Manor. I’m sorry, but
you own those now.Now if you please, I
would appreciate it if you would leave.”

Almost sorry
she said it Gracia softens somewhat. Agnes Abernathy does not. In a loud voice
so that everyone can hear, she exclaims her disappointment, the way she is
being treated. More angrily she goes on about her distaste for anything she
purchased, her demands for the return of the earrings. Gracia cannot calm her
down. She has a sudden hate for this woman that continues to harangue her.
Everyone in the store is still. The two “lookers” decide to leave. Patrons in
the restaurants across the way have paused in their dining to listen. There is
no stopping the dirge of anger that passes through Abernathy’s mouth. When the
language begins to turn profane, Gracia decides it is time to summon
security.When she reaches down to the
console she spies the pulse pistols. Picking up the one that is hers, the
molded weapon slides easily into her grip. The sleek weapon is the most
advanced available. It takes fifty thousand nanoseconds to respond to Moeller’s
ID. Wishing it was loaded she points it at the yelling woman in a mocking
gesture, even though it is illegal to use it on human beings.

Abernathy
knows what is in Moeller’s hand and immediately shuts up, backing several steps
from the serving area. Gracia thinks the weapon is sterile. Nerve impulses to
the sensitive tellium surface of the trigger tells it to fire. A beat of pure
energy is released to consume the first obstacle in its path which in this case
is Mrs. Abernathy. Like a black hole, the woman implodes, every iota of her
being is consumed within seconds.

Gracia
Moeller cannot believe what she has done. Her voice is a shocked whisper.

“Ohh Shit.”

Thanks for dropping by the Scribbler. Hope you enjoyed the Far Out Mall.

Sunday, 18 June 2017

I am always sort of stymied when someone asks me to tell them about myself. I haven't exactly figured out who I am I suppose, but I'll tell you what I've got so far...I am a writer. I write because I love to read. In fact, I'm a book junkie. I need to read. I want to climb in books and live there. I want to meet the characters, walk in their shoes, fight their battles, fall in love with their heroes...Oh I do go on, don't I? Nevertheless, I imagine I share that same enthusiasm with most passionate readers. And likewise those readers dream about writing stories of their own. Does that mean I'm living the dream?My father was a story-teller. It's only now, looking back, that I appreciate what a vivid imagination he had! He made up a whole series of adventures involving our neighbor's cat Mopsy, and another one with a little old man and a cuckoo clock that always saved the day. He would weave a tale out of thin air. And as a result, I came about my love of stories and books, naturally.I loved taking notes in school and writing letters to my friends who moved to Florida when I was a little girl. I kept a diary from the time I was eight years old right up to about age fourteen. I still have some of the notebooks I filled with poetry when I was a teenager. I excelled in English, ignored it to the detriment of my other subjects, yet was never encouraged to pursue it as a career. C'est la vie!I went to college, majored in marketing, learned to write ad copy and design polls and surveys. Graduated in a time of recession and couldn't get a job. I was floundering. I ended up working in a retail clothing store, which ultimately led me to pursue a career change. At twenty-one, I found myself with such back pain, I could barely walk. Long story short, chiropractic saved the day and I found my new calling, I went back to school, started working in my field, got married, etc. Suddenly I realized it had been a year since I thought about writing.One day, a few years ago, I was sitting in the stylist's chair at the hair salon, touching up the blonde and reading my book to pass the time. My stylist said to me "You're always reading. Did you ever want to write a book yourself?" "Sure," I laughed. "Doesn't every reader want to be a writer?" "You should do it," she said. "Hmm," I thought. "But what am I going to write about?"I bought a nice notebook, a collection of fancy pens, started following other writers on Tumblr first and then Wordpress. After what amounted to months of reading about writing, I finally started jotting ideas of my own and four years later....I have published four books in a series on Amazon. This series of romantic suspense novels is set in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where I live. They are stories about ordinary people with families, people who fall in love and sometimes find themselves in outrageous circumstances. Add some suspense, humor, family dynamics and good conversation and voila!. I've just finished the first draft of a fifth novel in the series, which will hopefully be ready for publication this summer. In addition, I've written a collection of short stories, poems and dabbled in both art and photography, all of which are featured on my blog. I call it my mid-life renaissance. I also write about things I've learned along the way - including errors and blunders, bits of interesting research and the things that move and inspire me. I love the idea of connecting with other creative people who are trying to live their dreams, as well. I welcome honest feedback and above all else, know that I am happy to meet you!

The morning after Christmas was always a little glum. Especially
this year with father so ill. There’d been no money for presents and our only
treat was the honey cake Mama had made for dessert. Of late, we girls had had
to find ways to contribute and for me that meant work at the manor house on the
hill.

The air was cold, I could see my breath. The warmth from the
stove hadn’t made it to the upper room I shared with my two sisters. I quickly
washed my face and hands in the icy water from the basin and pulled on my
clothes. I’d brush my hair downstairs by the stove and talk to Papa while I
braided it. We’d moved a cot next to the stove so that he could keep warm over
night.

Mama had gone out already, it appeared. She cooked for the vicar
in the village and would have to get his breakfast for him.

“Papa,” I said softly. I laid a hand on his arm. He came awake
coughing so I helped him to a sitting position and pounded his back like the
doctor had instructed. When the spams stopped, he signaled for a glass of
water. I fetched it for him and held it to his lips.

"Thank you, my dear," he rasped. "How's my girl?"

I smiled. "I'm good, Papa. How are you feeling?"

"Right as rain, Love. Right as rain. I'll be on my feet
again before two shakes of a lamb's tail," he said with a reassuring
smile. "Now tell me... How many pages did you read last night?"

Papa was adamant that we girls continue learning. He had hoped
that we would be able to train to become teachers or nurses. Of course, that
supposed we wouldn't find husbands. And I always teased him that he thought the
three of us were going to be 'left on the shelf.'

Conversation with my father was always easy. Most men would rue
the lack of a son to carry on the family name. Not so my Da. He loved his three
daughters more than the best of the sons he could've sired. My younger sisters
hadn't yet lived up to his expectations, but they were still young. Clara was
just 14 -three years younger than me, and Grace another year younger than her.
They would, in time, flourish under Papa's guidance. Which was why he just had
to get better. He just had to...

I sat on a stool beside his cot and brushed out my hair while I
told him all about the book I was reading. I plaited the long dark tresses into
a single thick braid and then wound that into a bun. There was just enough time
to fix tea and a slice of toast for the both of us before I bundled into my
coat and set out for Prentice House, the manor on the hill.

The day dawned grey and cold, with just a hint of snow in the
air. At least I was assured of abundant warmth in the Prentice home. The family
had a houseful of guests for the holidays. Normally, I worked with the cleaning
staff, but with the extra mouths to feed, I'd been reassigned to help in the
kitchen.

When I entered through the servants' door on the ground floor,
the kitchen was already bustling with activity. Simmering pots of porridge,
fresh loaves from the oven, pans of eggs, sausages and bacon were keeping warm
until the guests assembled for breakfast. It would be up to Nancy and me to
wash and scrub all those pots and pans as they were emptied onto platters to be
taken up to the dining room.

I hung my coat and scarf on the peg, tied my apron around me and
got to work. The butlers and maids scurried about delivering and returning
dishes for refill. My hands were raw from scrubbing and scouring by the time the
last pan was clean. We had a precious hour to rest before we'd need to start on
the pans that were already in use for the next meal. Nancy and I helped
ourselves to a cup of tea and sat side by side at the servants' table in the
dining area next to the kitchen.

"What'd you do for Christmas, then?" she asked.

I looked into my cup, embarrassed. "My ma made us a stew. We
had a honey cake for dessert. That's it." I shrugged. "How about
you?"

"Made a goose, my ma did."

"Shut up, Nancy. You're lying," I snapped.

"It's true," she boasted.

I ignored her and sipped my tea.

We sat in uncomfortable silence till the tea was gone and our
break was over. I stood, pushing my chair back and taking my cup to the sink to
wash. Nancy was always putting on airs. A goose, indeed. Likely as my Da being
elected Prime Minister.

Mrs. Cooper was herding the rest of the girls into position when
the head butler appeared in a panic. "Quickly!" he gestured, as he
gasped for breath. "It's a disaster! The table...it's collapsed... food everywhere...
hurry!"

Every free hand was put to work cleaning up the mess as the
Prentice family and their guests looked on. Mr. And Mrs. Prentice appeared
embarrassed and horrified, while their two haughty daughters looked like they'd
just sucked lemons expecting them to be sugar cubes. Only young Hugh Prentice
gazed upon the scene with a twinkle in his eye and a smile threatening on his
lips. When he caught me looking at him, he set the smile free and winked. I
averted my eyes, blushing, but couldn't keep my own smile from turning up the
corners of my mouth. I busied myself with the cleanup until every scrap and
spill was dealt with. And as I stood, wiping my hands on my apron, I looked up
to find the blue eyes of Hugh Prentice still staring at me.

Thank you Margaret for being the guest this week on the Scribbler.

And a special thanks to you - the visitor. It would be nice to hear from you.

Saturday, 10 June 2017

I am a UK girl, dragon lover, wildlife
lover, fanatic reader and now writer also, and a bit of a dreamer. Coffee and
chocolate are my downfall, but I enjoy walking and running so that kind of makes
up for it. That’s my excuse anyway!

I never set out to be a writer, well not stories as such. I was a professional
singer/songwriter for 15 years, singing was always my passion from childhood. It
took a major change in my life to take me in the other direction. I suffered a
head injury which left me with no sense of smell or taste, this is called
Anosmia. It was such a devastating and life changing condition that I began a
blog as a way of releasing my sadness and loss. As I wrote I realised, not only
was it a therapeutic thing for me to do, but also that I loved writing. My
writing slowly came to life from there and as this happened I came back to life
too.

I now have a writing website, and also continue my Anosmia blog
alongside it. I am in the process of writing a fantasy novel and have written
some short stories in that genre also. Having taken a fantasy writing diploma
in which I achieved a distinction, I truly feel I have found my writing niche.
In a crazy way if my Anosmia had never occurred my writing wouldn’t have
either. I suppose even though I could have done without all that pain and heartache,
had I not gone through it I would never have found myself at this point.

Now I try to write every day weather it turns out to be good or not
so good I find it immensely satisfying. I want to take my writing to another
level now which is why I’m writing a book, and I’m so pleased with my short
stories. Maybe I’ll write an autobiography about my Anosmia one day. But for
now my fantasy writing world is enough.

Now You See Me (copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)

The grass was damp under his feet as in
his haste Rory had forgotten to put his shoes on. He walked over to the two
Gnomes his feet already starting to feel cold. “What are you two playing at?”
He whispered under his breath, “Are you trying to wake up mum and dad?”

“No, my grumpy brother here won’t let me
play with this bracelet, even though I found it in the first place.” Lawrence
said

“Let me have a look then,” said Rory.
Len the oldest of the brothers reluctantly handed the bracelet to him. “I’ve
never seen this before, where did you find it?”

“In the grass under the oak tree, where
the farmer grazes those silly, illiterate sheep of his.”

“Don’t be mean” said Milly, landing on
Rory’s shoulder, “they can’t help it if they don’t understand you, even I don’t
sometimes”

“That’s because you are a scatty little
Sprite!” said Lenny.Rory ignored the
bickering and put the bracelet into his jacket pocket. “I’ll give this to mum
tomorrow maybe she can ask around and find out who it belongs to. But enough of
this, my feet are freezing, it’s the middle of the night and I have school in
the morning!”

Crystal rubbed up against Rory’s legs.
“Where’s that dragon when you need him she purred, he could warm your feet up.”

“I’m not letting Casper near my feet
he’ll burn them.”

“Oh well just a thought, I’m off to see
if there’s anything to chase”.

“Did I hear my name being called Master
Rory?”

“Casper where have you been, and don’t
call me master you know I don’t like it”.

“Ok”, Casper shrugged.

“His feet are cold” said Milly “do you
think you could warm them up without burning his toes off?”

“No sweat, get it no sweat ha, ha, sit
on the path master,….um Rory and I’ll soon have them warm as toast.”

“I’d prefer them not to be toasted Casper, but
ok my toes have gone numb now.”

“Well it probably wouldn’t hurt if he
did burn them in that case,” Lawrence said.

Once Rory’s toes were warm enough for
him to walk back to the house, he dashed in before they got cold again.
Groaning inwardly he realized the whole entourage had followed him too. Crystal
was still out chasing things however. “At least that’s one less for now”, Rory
thought.

After a sleepless night Rory got ready
for school. “Thanks to you lot I’m done in this morning” he said. “I did try to
snooze but you were making such a racket even that didn’t happen.” They all
looked at him sheepishly as he stomped out of the bedroom door.

Downstairs his mum was making breakfast.
“Did you sleep in this morning love? You’re late for your breakfast.” His mum
couldn’t see Rory’s magical friends so he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth.

“Yes mum my bed was so comfortable, I
didn’t want to move.” He knew that was a pretty lame excuse but it would have
to do, he was too tired to come up with a more convincing one. After a rather
rushed breakfast, he grabbed his schoolbag and dashed off to catch the school
bus. “By mum,” he called hurriedly. In his haste he’d forgotten all about the
bracelet in his pocket.

Focusing on his lessons that morning was
almost impossible, but he tried to look interested before the school bell
sounded for break time. He want and hid out at the end of the school playing
field it was warm with a gentle breeze and he needed the fresh air to revive
him. He hadn’t been there long when a girl he didn’t recognize walked over to
him. She was small with short blonde hair and a stubborn look on her face.
“I’ve come over here for some peace and quiet” she said. “Those silly giggly
girls drive me mad!”

“Well you’re going to be popular with an
attitude like that.”

“I don’t want to be popular” exclaimed
the girl, “I want to be left alone!”

“Well don’t let me stop you” said Rory
and walked further down the field.

He hadn’t been there long when Milly
materialized on his shoulder making him jump. “Milly why did you make yourself
invisible, you know I’m the only one can who see you, and you lot”, he said
quietly as the others appeared out of the grass. “Why are you all here? I’ve
told you before not to come to my school.”

“Well you just said yourself you’re the
only one that can see us so there’s no danger” said Len.

“Anyway,” piped up Casper, “we felt bad
about last night so thought we’d come and cheer you up a bit.”

“Yes I suppose we are a bit sorry”
admitted Lawrence reluctantly.

“Ok you’re forgiven, but you’d best go
in case that grumpy girl over there thinks I’ve gone crazy talking to myself.”

Monday, 5 June 2017

The Scribbler is very happy to have Sylvie as our guest this
week. She has kindly agreed to share some of her beautiful photos and participate in a 4Q Interview.

Growing up in a New-Brunswick fishing
village it didn’t seem possible
that someone could create a livelihood pursuing artistic expression. Being from
a very practical family, she steered away from the deep longing to create. But
eventually she just couldn’t
deny the hunger to live her truest self.

Make-up artistry was her first
opportunity. While working as a dental assistant in Moncton, a TV producer
landed in the dental chair. That’s where she got her first break landing a
daily gig doing make-up on background cast.“I wanted more. I wanted to live in that creative world and pursue my
dream of becoming a full-time artist.” says Sylvie. But New Brunswick isn’t exactly a mecca of media production. In
her 30th year the opportunity arose to moved to Toronto and pursue make-up artistry more seriously. “I
quickly learned that pursuing your dreams is damn hard work. It took me six
months to find my feet and when I did I landed in the world of independent
Canadian film. I appreciated the opportunity but I couldn’t ignore the feeling that maybe I wasn’t in the most ideal place for how I
wanted to fully express myself. I felt the pull into the world of fashion.”

Soon she was collaborating with photographers on everything from
make-up & hair to artistic direction. This is where her true love of
artistic expression found its’ synergy. Earning a good living doing what she loved while growing as
an artist in every way.

Just when she was peaking and finding her
stride, everything changed. Pregnancy. Parenthood.

And like others who found themselves as
first time parents away from extended family, the pull to go home was
undeniable. Artistic expression would have to wait.

“I came home with my eyes wide open and
knew that earning a living doing what I loved might not be possible. I tried
jobs related to my career and knew, I was trying to recapture what I had
instead of accepting the new reality.”

After much introspection and dabbling in other mediums, her heart
eventually settled on photography. After all she had stood beside many of the
top photographers in Canada and felt confident it was the means most closely
aligned to her artistic identity. But instead of a controlled studio space, she
wanted to find compelling expression in the world around her. Reconnect with
her environment. The more she practiced her craft the more she felt drawn to
the world of abstraction & colour.

Instead of merely reflecting back the
world around her, small, minute details caught her attention. The more she
captured these solemn moments the more she started to find her creative self
once again. The more she found her creative self the more opportunity she saw
to give it a purpose. And so she did. “My work is about finding beauty in the
mundane. And once again, I have found my artistic voice.”

4Q. When did you develop your interest in taking photos?

SM:About 15 years ago. I
was working as a make-up artist in Toronto. I had to take pictures of actors
for continuity purposes. The industry was just starting to switch to digital
from Polaroid and I bought myself a Canon Powershot G3.It was love at first click. I still have it
as a matter of fact.The sets were
always perfectly lit.I would take
advantage of it in my down time to snap away.Plus the streets of Toronto always have something interesting going on
at any given time.

4Q:Are your photos planned or spontaneous?

SM:I would say 95% of my
images are spontaneous. I have dabbled in still life and staging a few shots
but it never looks like it does in my mind’s eye.I prefer letting the subject
speak and reveal its self to me. I do give myself themes sometimes like for
example only shoot things that are yellow or round or 10 feet from the house.

4Q: Pleased share a childhood anecdote or memory.

SM: Wow a child hood memory.

So many to choose from like picking wild berries with my
grandmothers and making homemade jams. Sunday drives down to the docks to get
soft vanilla ice-cream from the dairy bar, swimming in the river from sun up to
sundown with my feet all cut from chards of glass stuck in the mud, climbing
the big pine tree in my back yard to the very top and swaying in the wind,
listening to my mom play Fleetwood Mac songs on the guitar, canoeing with my
dad, skating on the frozen river & ponds. These are a few of my favourites

4Q: What should we know about your future in photography? Any
shows planned?

SM:My vision is to have
gallery exhibits around the world but for now I have an exhibit in a local
Gallery in Moncton:“The Champlain
Dental Gallery”. Yes you read it right. A dental office that also acts as an
art gallery and support to local artists.

For a few Sunday’s this summer I’ll be at the local market in
Shediac, New-Brunswick

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SHORTS Vol.1

The Ship Breakers - Breaking gigantic ships by hand is dangerous and gruelling work. Many workers are children. The wages are low. ( This story received Honorable Mention in the WFNB's short story competition) Lloyd and the Baby - A bachelor finds an abandoned baby. What does he do with it? The Shattered Figurine - Detective Josephine (Jo) Naylor is told where to find the next body with a plea to help the killer stop this madness. The Two Grumpy Old Man Cafe - The meals are delicious, the atmosphere perfect and the insults are free. Available at Amazon. Please CLICK on the book cover.

SHORTS Vol.2

Five engaging short stories that will keep you wanting more by this author. *Four Boxes of Memories – Lloyd Minister moves to a nursing home with his most important possessions and he can’t take everything with him. *Reaching the Pinnacle - Grandfather and granddaughter hike the highest mountain in their province. Around the campfire, the young lady has something important to tell her Gramps. *Pioneers in a Hurry - A fond recollection of three grown men acting like boys on an all-night camping trip. Being mischievous comes naturally. *Near Dead - Detective Jo Naylor finds herself in the dark. She’s not alone. Someone wants her dead. *Six Jutlands and a Conestoga - The Verhoeven family have everything they own in a wagon, children and all. The mysterious west beckons. Available at Amazon. Please click on the book cover.

SHORTS Vol.3

Letting Go - a son deals with his deceased father's "boxes of memories". One Bedroom Ark - Noah Coyne owns a convenience story, the last customer of the night will change his life. Two Boys, One Wagon and a Secret - In the 50's, a young boy's pride was a red wagon. What do they discover one day when they are out filling it up with returnables? No Dying Today - Det. Jo Naylor and her partner search for the man that tried to kill her last night. The Food Bank - some people have too much food, others not enough.Available at Amazon. Please CLICK on the book cover.

Blooger's Award.

Thank you Susan Toy.

Family and Friends.

Nieces Pam Cottrell and Jackie Beers

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What's New?

Please check out the new Detective Jo Naylor serialization on the Page bar above. New additions coming soon. Follow the story here on the Scribbler.

Paperback copies of Dark Side of a Promise are available at Chapters - Regent Mall, Fredericton, NB. Cover to Cover in Riverview, NB. And from the Author.

Allan Hudson

About Me

My mother taught me to read, to like books, when I was very young. She also taught me how to write. I grew up in the country, even went to a one-room school which was right across the road from our house. She was the teacher. The days I missed were few. I enjoy reading and some of my favorite authors are Bryce Courtenay, Beth Powning, Dennis LeHane, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cara Brookins, Susan Toy, Jason Lawson, Lockie Young, Chuck Bowie, Harlan Coben, Leon Uris and Herman Wouk.Writing is so much fun and even though I started later in life, I am so happy to realize my dream. Having this blog so I can share other people's work gives me great pleasure.

I've had many adventures in my life. I've travelled throughout North America, gone skydiving, rock climbing, wilderness camping. I craft stained glass and I enjoy woodworking. I'm blessed with many good friends. I live in the seaside community of Cocagne, New Brunswick, Canada. My wife's name is Gloria. My son's name is Adam and my stepsons' names are Christopher (Mireille) and Mark (Nathalie) Young. My grandchildren are Matthieu, Natasha and Damien. I love them all.Thank you for visiting. I hope you enjoy my blog. You can reach me by leaving a comment and/or your email address below and I'll respond.

A new Drake Alexander novel

Coming soon...

The Douglas Kyle Memorial Award for Fiction

My story - The Ship Breakers - received Honorable Mention in the Douglas Kyle Memorial awards for New Brunswick Writers Federation's short story category. It's featured in SHORTS Vol.1

The Dark Side of a Promise

Dark Side of a Promise is an edgy, international thriller. A tale of Revenge! Drake Alexander follows the trail of one of the world’s deadliest men which leads him to the unlikeliest locations – Bangladesh, the country of rivers. Bartolo Rizzato murdered his best friend’s sister. Why is he in Asia? It can only be to steal or kill! When Alexander finds him, will he deliver on his promise? (Go to comment box in Novel section above to see what one reader says about the novel) Only $4.99 from Amazon. Please CLICK on the book cover.